Bloody Cheesecake Surprise
by Hyaroo
Summary: Ever wonder why, even before he got his soul, Spike was so obviously different from other vampires? Well, SOMEONE does, and SOMEONE is quite determined to find out, even if they have to kidnap and torture him. Sometimes it really sucks to be Spike.
1. Under the Shadow

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**BLOODY CHEESECAKE SURPRISE**

**Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel  
by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy**

Disclaimer: Spike and friends (and enemies) are the intellectual property of people who are not me, and they are likely to stay that way.

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**CHAPTER ONE:  
Under the Shadow  
**

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_Yep. Obviously. Definitely not._

These were, in chronological order, the answers to the first three questions that presented themselves in Spike's mind even before he opened his eyes:

**One: **I'm lying face-down, right? _(Yep.)_**  
Two: **I'm lying on a hard, cold and uncomfortable surface, right? _(Obviously.)_**  
Three: **Far as I can remember, I did not for some reason decide to take a nap on a solid marble floor? _(Definitely not.)_**  
**

These conclusions drawn, he decided to risk opening one eye.

Sure enough, he was lying on a solid marble floor, in from what he could make out with his one eye appeared to be a fairly large room, somewhat oddly decorated in that the center of it -- where he was lying -- was completely empty and bare, while a notable amount of furniture (a bed, a couch, a few chairs, a table, a widescreen TV, and even a large refrigerator) was lined up by the walls, as if waiting for some slightly more sensible interior decorator to come and arrange them in that _didn't_ look so completely ridiculous.

He didn't recognize any of it; not the room and not the furniture.

_Right. Waking up in a strange place, with no idea of how I got here or how long I've been here. Just terrific._

For a second or two, he considered playing possum a while, in case something was happening that it would be better to pretend not to be awake around, but he quickly decided against it. If anything was happening, he was obviously already part of it, and he'd much rather take an active part in the happenings than lie around like some twisted parody of Sleeping Beauty.

Slowly and carefully, in case some nutter was hiding somewhere and waiting to shoot as soon as he moved, Spike got to his feet and looked around.

He was alone in the room. As far as his sharp vampire senses could tell him, anyway. Now he also noticed that there were no windows in the room, and no visible lamps, but there was still light -- curiously enough falling in wide strips along the walls, leaving a huge square of shade in the center of the room. At the far end of the room was a door, bathed in light and looking all the more inviting for it.

"Hello?" Spike called out, making sure not to do it too loudly. "Anyone here? Well, that's all right," he hurriedly added before anybody could answer. "I'll just let myself out, then."

Quick as only a vampire could be, he bolted for the door...

...and cried out in surprised pain as he stepped out of the shadow, his skin starting to smoke furiously as soon as the light hit it. Turning around, he threw himself back into the shadow, hitting the floor and rolling around and over to get as far away from the light as possible.

"Bloody --!" he cursed, momentarily unable to do anything else. "What the soddin', bleedin', bloomin' --?!"

His beginning tirade was cut short by the unmistakable sound of a door opening behind him. Doing his best to ignore the pain, Spike managed to sit up and turn around just in time to see the woman entering the room.

She looked to be a normal human, possibly in her twenties (not that Spike had ever been too good at telling a human's age just by looking, even back when he had been one himself), with incredibly pale skin and white-blonde hair. To further add to the unsettling feeling that he'd go snowblind if he stared at her too long, she wore a long flowing robe made out of an almost impossibly white material.

Her face brightened even further as she saw him.

"Ah, you're awake," she said in a soft, melodious voice. "My heart is overjoyed, good sir William -- or do you perhaps prefer to be called Spike? -- Overjoyed at seeing that you have finally recovered. Believe me, I would have cried bitter tears if you hadn't woken up soon."

"Yeah, glad to be of service," he snarled, only slightly taken aback with this exaggerated politeness. "Who the hell are you? No, on second thought, sod who you are, _where_ the hell am_ I?"_

"Patience, my friend, patience," said the woman, her face growing solemn. "And please don't try something so thoughtless as to leave the shadow again. I can see that you already made the attempt -- oh, I understand you, how well I understand you, but it would do no good!" She made a sweeping gesture around the room. "All the light you see, and indeed all the light you see _by_, in this room, is one hundred percent pure sunlight. It would surely reduce even a powerful vampire like you to a pile of dust in a matter of seconds, and what a _tragedy_ that would be, for the both of us."

"...right," said Spike, shaking his head. "Nice speech there. Are you for _real_?"

"I assure you, I'm quite real."

"And how the hell do you get sunlight inside a --" Spike began, but stopped himself. "No, wait, I know how. It's bloody _magic_, innit? You've imprisoned me using magic."

"Oh, let's not use such an ugly word," she said with a mildly disapproving look. "Let's just say that I'm honored to have you here as my _guest_, for the time being."

Spike sighed. "All right, luv," he said, resigning himself to his fate for the time being. "I'll play along. What did I do? Kill your parents? Your children? Someone else you knew?"

"Actually, I don't believe you have killed a single person of my acquaintance."

"You been hired by someone with a grudge against me?"

"Most certainly not. I'm proud to say that I work for no man, woman, demon or god."

"All right, then I guess you just decided to put me away because you knew of my reputation and how I'm a terrible menace to society."

She laughed. "No."

"Well," said Spike. "Then I'm kinda stumped here. Unless you're hoping to use me in order to get to someone else, or wanting to get some sort of information out of me, I've pretty much run through all the usual reasons people have for wanting to keep me a _'guest.'_"

"You do lead an interesting life, don't you?" The woman smiled.

"Vampire, aren't I? Been alive for more'n a hundred years, most of which were spent killing and maiming the innocent. You don't get to do that without making yourself quite a lot of enemies."

"That is such a shame," she said cheerfully. "But I assure you that you're quite safe from all your enemies for the moment. Nobody even knows you're here."

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered. "And you've brought me here out of the goodness of your heart, I expect."

Her expression turned solemn again. "No," she said. "Much as your presence here is a joy to me, I must regretfully admit that I have an ulterior motive in bringing you to my humble abodes. You might say that I am _'wanting to get some sort of information out of you', _as you put it, but don't worry -- as long as you cooperate, I'll do my utmost to see to it that you're comfortable."

"Well, aren't I just the luckiest bugger in the world," said Spike sarcastically. "So what do you want from me?"

"Allow me to explain," said the woman, making a grand, sweeping motion with her hand. "My name is Wanda, and I am a humble demonologist, having devoted my life to the special study of the more unusual members of the species. And, may I add, after careful research of the impressive history of William the Bloody, also known as Spike --" (she smiles and motioned towards him) "-- I have come to the conclusion that there is hardly a more unusual specimen around than you."

"Yeah, yeah, vampire with a soul, that sorta thing," said Spike, who had heard similar statements before and learned to dislike them very strongly -- usually when statements like this were made, something unpleasant was about to happen, generally to him. "I'm not the only one around, you know. Hell, I'm not even the _original_ one," he said, getting an idea. "Who you really want is Angel. _He_ had _his_ soul long before it got cool to have one. Me, I just jumped on the bandwagon."

"I'm sure that Angel is a most praiseworthy person," said Wanda, "but to my regret, he's not the one I want. In your case, it's not the soul in itself that makes you unique."

"It's not?"

"Oh, please don't misunderstand me, an ensouled vampire is indeed a most rare thing, but it's hardly unique. There are others out there... although none of them, I must say, will probably ever reach the fame that you and Angel have."

Spike frowned slightly. The stories of vampires with souls -- unlucky sods who had been cursed some way or another -- occasionally resurfaced in the vampire communities, but most vamps agreed that they were just fanciful stories made up by people with slightly more imagination than was really good for them. _He_ had certainly never met any other ensouled vampires other than Angel and, recently, himself.

Still... when you _thought_ about it, it might not be such a far stretch that there could be one or two others out there, who'd ticked off some vengeful gypsy or sorcerer.

"Most of them don't last for very long," said Wanda, as if she'd read his mind. "Unable to live with themselves and the horrible things they did when they were soulless monsters, they complete their own tragedy by deciding to end it all. Very few actually persist, but some, very much to the joy of the world, do."

"Right, and among them you find me," said Spike. "Champion of the world, scourge of the wicked and all that rot. And now we're back at the refrain here, luv: _What do you want from me?"_

"I merely wish to find out what makes you so unique," said Wanda. "You are not like other vampires, sir William. Ensouled vampires have existed before you, and will exist after you... but for all of them, their souls were forced upon them like a curse. None of them, not one, ever _sought out_ their souls, much less fought for the privilege of getting it back. You did."

"Oh. That." Spike paused. "Well, a bloke does all sorts of crazy things when he's in love, don't he?"

"Yes, the vampire who loved a Slayer." Wanda smiled. "Who set out to regain his soul so he'd be worthy of her. I know the story, a most romantic and tragic story. It didn't exactly work out the way you had hoped, did it?"

Spike felt like making a face, but decided against it. True, his Great Quest for a Soul hadn't exactly turned out as planned.

Back when he'd had the idea, it had seemed so simple: A soulless vampire like he had been back then, no matter how good his intentions were, would never manage to raise above the level of "monster." Even chipped and de-fanged, he was still a danger, still unworthy of and incapable of truly getting the love he'd so desperately craved, something that had hit him pretty hard in that painful moment of self-realization.

So he'd gone off on a road trip to get a soul and become the man he was supposed to be, and had fought bravely and bitterly towards his goal -- only to discover when he'd finally reached said goal that it hadn't been what he'd expected.

Getting a soul hadn't changed him much, really, not the way he'd thought it would and not the way it had Angel. What it had done was change the entire bloody _world_. It had turned the world from a very simple place to a hopelessly complicated one where it suddenly _mattered_ whether complete strangers lived or died, and where "I felt like doing it" and "it seemed like a good idea at the time" were not the universal excuses they had once been. A world where there were huge consequences and repercussions to even the smallest of actions (many of which did not make a lick of sense), and worst of all where it was depressingly obvious what a bloody idiot Spike had been.

A soul didn't automatically make you good, or worthy. It didn't erase who you had been before, or cancel out the many terrible things you'd done while soulless. It just made you _care_ about them, made you realize just how much of a monster you'd been. You couldn't say "that wasn't really me" or "I couldn't help it." Your soul didn't listen to such arguments. It knew, and made sure you knew, that you were responsible for your own actions.

He'd known then, even if he'd pretended not to for a long time, that he couldn't ever really be the man worthy of the Slayer's love, because... some things couldn't ever be made right again.

Didn't mean he couldn't _try_, though. If he was just going to give up, then he might as well crawl into an alleyway to brood and eat rats, and bugger if he'd ever go down _that_ path.

He looked at Wanda. "I made some choices," he said. "Some of 'em were good, some of 'em were bad -- a _lot_ of 'em were bad, actually -- but they were _my_ choices, and I'm prepared to live with them."

"Ah, and here we have arrived, at the main question," she said in a satisfied tone. "Why did you make them in the first place? I've seen a lot of your actions, even before you got your soul. And while many of them were, and I do hope you'll forgive me for being so blunt about it, the blackest acts of villainy, I also saw surprisingly many noble deeds -- far more than one would have expected from any soulless creature."

"Noble? Oh, _please,_" said Spike. "Hate to break it to you, but I was purely in it for myself. Yeah, I helped saved the world a couple times, fought with the Slayer on the side of good, but that was only to cover my own arse, get what I wanted, and not to forget avoid being staked. If I'd had my chance, I'd have killed the lot of 'em, and I wouldn't have shed so much as a bleedin' tear over it."

She smiled. "Even the Slayer's mother and little sister?"

"Joyce and Dawn?! Well, _obviously_ not _them_," said Spike. "I mean, they never did anything to me, did they? Knew how to treat a bloke decently, they did. Besides, the Slayer woulda had my hide if anything happened to --"

"And let's not forget your own mother. Most vampires, after being sired, delight in killing their human families. You tried to save yours."

"Fat lot of good that did me. Or her."

Wanda smiled again. God, was that starting to become infuriating. "Even so, I hope you can see that even without a soul, and for a vampire, you could be surprisingly _human_ at times. Moreso than any of your peers. Even in your diet -- how many other vampires do you know who would willingly eat onion flowers?"

"Yeah, remind me of them, why don't y-- hang on, have you been _spying_ on me?!"

"Oh, no, please don't think so lowly of me as that. I have simply done some research. You would be amazed as to how much a person can find out if she looks in the right places, without having to stoop to such despicable levels as spying on the unaware."

"Yeah. Right."

"You don't believe me, I take it." Wanda sighed theatrically. "Well, of _course_ you're completely free to judge my character as you see fit -- but that doesn't change the facts, does it? You have never been like other vampires. There was always something more there, something that didn't quite fit with the vampiric nature, and not even the fact that you fell in love with a Vampire Slayer could begin to explain it _all_. So I would like to find out exactly what it is that makes you so unique, and why."

"So _obviously_ you had to kidnap me."

"Keep you as my honored guest."

"An honored guest who was brought here against his will and isn't allowed to leave? Yeah, I can see how that's completely different." Spike snorted. "You haven't told me why you're doing this, though."

"Because I want to find out why you are --"

"Yeah, all right, I got that part. But why does it even matter why I am the way I am? What do _you_ get out of it?"

"Would you believe that I'm merely a curious nature?"

"Go through all this just for curiosity's sake? Not a bloody chance. I've seen people, luv, and you don't even begin to qualify as the type to do anything unless there's something in it for you."

"Might I remind you," (Wanda's tone, while still exceedingly polite, seemed quite a few degrees colder as she said this) "that you are a guest in this house and as such expected to follow certain rules of etiquette? Now, you can cooperate with me, or you can refuse, but I assure you that I will eventually find out your secret."

"Haven't got one." Spike grinned, pleased that he'd finally managed to hit a nerve. "Or if I do, it's so secret even I don't know it. 'Sides, if I don't behave like a good little guest, what are you gonna do -- kick me out?"

"I can make your stay quite unpleasant, you know."

"Yeah, you do that. Be interesting to see if you can manage to do anything to me that I haven't already gone through. The universe has always had a fondness for knocking me down and then kicking me in the balls before I can get up again... but you know what? I always _do_ get up again. I've been tortured, held prisoner, almost killed, _actually_ killed, trapped in various hell dimensions, had my heart ripped out and stomped on both metaphorically _and_ literally, forced to spend time as a ghost and haunt locations I absolutely hated, and, worst of all, _been the roommate of Xander Harris._" Spike looked at his captor, allowing just a hint of stubborn triumph shine through in his voice. "And despite all that, I'm still here. What have _you_ got?"

Wanda looked at him, silent for a long time. Then, she motioned to all the furniture that was stacked against the wall. "I have an offer. I trust you see this furniture? There is a very comfortable bed here, a high-quality couch, a couple of nice chairs, and a functional widescreen television set. Cooperate with me on this, and you have my word of honor that it'll all be moved to under the shadow, where you can freely use it all. Refuse, however, and everything stays here in the light, just out of your reach. And -- it truly pains me to inform you this, but so does the refrigerator Which, at the moment, contains not only several packets of fresh blood, but also." she paused to give him an unpleasant smile, "one dozen onion flowers. _And you won't get a single one._"

"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike exclaimed, shocked.

"So, my most esteemed guest, what happens next is really up to you," said Wanda, once again all exaggerated hearty politeness. "Are you going to cooperate, or not?"

Spike drew in a huge breath, more out of frustration than because he actually needed to breathe, and let it slowly out again. "All right," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll bloody do whatever you say. For now."

"It pleases my heart greatly to hear this," said Wanda with a self-satisfied smugness in her voice that almost made Spike regret agreeing to her terms.

Almost.

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's Notes:** Here you go, my first fanfic taking place in the Buffyverse, and also a story I've been wanting to write for quite some time! I'm not quite sure of how long it'll be yet, but I think you can expect at least a novella-length story -- four or five chapters, possibly more. I don't know yet. (And thanks to Sarah for the title, by the way!)

Wasn't quite sure whether to put this in the _Buffy_ or _Angel_ category, given that the central character played important roles on both shows, but as the plot developed, I decided that the story was probably closer to the _Buffy_ end of things... so that became the category.

This takes place after _Angel's _Season Five, sometime after the canonical_ After the Fall_ comics and during _Buffy_'s Season Eight comics (yes, the comics count as canon for this one, but don't worry if you haven't read them -- the actual events of the comics don't come much into play here, since Spike (so far) isn't present in the _Buffy_ comic, and is gone from enough issues of the _Angel_ comic that there's plenty of time for an "unseen adventure." I'm sorta treating this in the vein of the Spike-centric comics _Asylum_ and _Shadow Puppets_, which don't directly contradict the canon of the show but don't go out of their way to explain exactly where they fit in either. Suffice to say, the Spike of this story has a soul, is not in Hell, and has left Los Angeles and Angel -- for now.

Oh... and since we're acknowledging the comics here anyway, don't be too surprised if Spike's telepathic flying fish pal, Betta George (from the comics _Asylum, Shadow Puppets_ and _After the Fall_) makes an appearance.


	2. With A Little Help From My Friends

**

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**

**BLOODY CHEESECAKE SURPRISE**

**Based on **_**Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel  
**_**by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy**

**Disclaimer: Spike and all the others are the property of their proper owners.  
Heh, "property of proper." That's funny.

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**

**CHAPTER TWO  
With A Little Help From My Friends**_**

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**_

Spike fell heavily to the floor, his body convulsing with the aftershocks of the intense pain.

"This is highly intriguing," said Wanda's infuriatingly-calm-as-ever voice from somewhere near. "Highly annoying, yes, but intriguing all the same. That was my most thorough scanning spell, one that has never failed me before. I regret to say that there is a bit of pain involved --"

"I noticed that, thanks!" Spike rasped, carefully turning his head to glare at her. Against all logical plausibility, his _clothes _hurt.

"-- but it will pass," Wanda continued. " Though each second of your pain feels to me like a thousand swords piercing my heart, I am overjoyed to tell you that it won't last for long. What's worse, though, or at least more puzzling, is that the scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Apart from your soul, I'm unable to find a single anomaly in you."

"Brilliant," Spike wheezed. "How about another go, then? I think there's still some parts of me where the pain isn't quite as agonizing."

"Oh, please don't think so ill of me that to suggest I wouldn't rather walk through the very flames of Hell itself rather than to see you in any more discomfort than strictly necessary," said Wanda smoothly. "Do at least admit that I have done my utmost to make your stay here a pleasant one."

"Yeah... bloody saint, you are." With tremendous effort, Spike managed to haul himself over to the couch and collapse upon it, silently cursing himself for ever having agreed to cooperate with this lunatic.

True, after almost three days of captivity, he was forced to admit that Wanda _did _treat him better than the people of the Initiative or the demons of Hell, and that she'd been as good as her word and let him have both furniture, big-screen TV and onion flowers in exchange for his cooperation.

Then again, with the Initiative and the demons of Hell he'd at least not had to endure the infuriating, exaggerated, faker-than-a-three-dollar-bill _politeness_. It was lucky for Wanda that she was standing in the sun, out of Spike's reach, or he would have lost his temper with her ages ago and attacked violently, repercussions be damned. But, as he wasn't suicidal enough to risk the sun, for the moment he had to make due with imagining several gruesome ends to her.

His favorite at the moment involved burying her up to the neck in sand, smearing jam on her face and leave her to get eaten alive by killer ants.

"It's really most vexing," Wanda continued, blissfully oblivious to her current fate in Spike's imagination. "Every single test I have put you through shows that you should have been a normal, common vampire before your re-ensouling, and yet history repeatedly shows that you were not. For some time, I considered that perhaps it had to do with the vampire who sired you."

"Drusilla?" said Spike, lifting his head as much as he managed.

"Indeed, Drusilla. I was, or rather am, working on a theory that she might have had something to do with your anomaly. A highly unique vampire herself, as I understand it, with a rare form of second sight mixed with, and I do hope you will forgive me if this sounds too crude, notable insanity. And so, I ponder, Drusilla might very well have passed on something of herself, something that would render any vampire she sired as different. You don't happen to know whether she ever sired any vampires apart from you?"

Spike let his head fall back down. "If she did, she never told me about it. No, wait," he suddenly remembered, "there was Darla. Almost forgot about her."

"Darla?" Wanda frowned, as if trying to think of something. "Do correct me if I am wrong, but the only 'Darla' I know of in connection with you is the vampire who sired Angel back in the day. Your, as it were, great-grandsire."

"You know," Spike muttered. "I'm just gonna stop being surprised when you tell me these details from my own life. You clearly know everything there is to know about my past."

"Everything? Hardly that," said Wanda, still completely oblivious to the fact that in Spike's imagination, the killer ants had started on her eyes. "For example, I was unaware that Drusilla had sired a second Darla."

"Not a second Darla, the same one," said Spike. "Look, she got dusted and then some nutters thought it would be a good idea to bring her back to life as a human, all right? And then she got re-vamped by Dru." He paused. "And now that I'm actually telling the story to someone else, I'm suddenly getting a whole new appreciation for how bloody insane it all sounds. Anyway, I wasn't even involved in that mess. Never even met Darla after she came back."

"So you would be unable to tell me whether she was different in some way afterwards," said Wanda.

"Fraid so. And no point trying to find her. Last I heard, she was dust. Again."

"How very unfortunate, and how very tragic for you," said Wanda with exaggerated sympathy. "My deepest and most sincere condolences for your loss."

Spike grit his teeth. Sod the killer ants and sod the long, drawn-out suffering, just give him five uninterrupted minutes with the bitch and an ice pick. Five minutes. "Yeah, thank you," he said.

"But she was the only other vampire to be sired by Drusilla, as far as you know?"

"Far as I know."

"In many ways, that is a pity. Had there been others, I might have had the opportunity to study them as well, and see whether they displayed any abnormal traits similar to yours."

"Well. Wouldn't that have been an absolute scream," said Spike dryly. "Dozens of wannabe Spikes falling over themselves, fighting over who gets to shag the Slayer and sacrifice themselves in order to save the world."

Wanda didn't appear to have heard him. "But if that is the case," she mused, "why am I unable to find the anomaly within you?! There should by all accounts be something there, something detectable!"

"Not my fault if Dru never bothered to leave a calling card." Spike sat up on the couch, noting to his relief that the lingering pain was almost gone by this time; only a slight headache remaining. "We done for now? _Passions _is on."

Wanda sighed. "I suppose so. I'm going to have to research more revealing spells anyway. Rest assured, my friend, we will find out your secret."

"I can hardly wait," said Spike, reaching for the remote.

"I do appreciate your cooperation," said Wanda as she turned to walk out, "Were it only that the other one was as easy to deal with as you."

"Yeah, yeah. Wait -- _other _one?" Spike put the remote down and turned to look at Wanda, but she had already exited the room.

Great. Brilliant. Spike stifled a groan and ran his hand down his face. The bint was doing this on purpose, he just knew it, letting these things slip ever so casually in order to taunt him.

So, there was another one, a fellow prisoner that he hadn't known about. Could it be another vampire with a soul, perhaps? Not likely. Even if Wanda's claims were true, and he and Angel weren't as wholly unique as he'd once thought, ensouled vampires were still so rare that the odds that a third one would be around here and now were pretty slim.

For a brief moment, Spike wondered if the other prisoner might be Angel, but he discarded that idea almost before he'd finished the thought. No, the faint bond between him and old Captain Forehead might not be the best example of the strong connection between vampires of the same bloodline, but is was still strong enough that Spike was certain that if Angel had been here, he would have known.

Someone else, then. Was it someone he knew, or a complete stranger? Male or female? Human, demon, or something else entirely? Impossible to say for sure.

Oh well. If Wanda was busy with whoever this "other one" was, that did also mean that there were times she wasn't watching him -- which suited him just fine.

Spike was not known for his patience. In fact, most who knew him would probably have laughed their heads off if the words "Spike" and "patience" were even mentioned in the same sentence. But, contrary to popular belief, he could (at least when it was absolutely necessary and he had no other options) force himself to wait, and plan, and work with silent perseverance towards one goal.

He turned on the television just in time to see the opening credits for his favorite soap opera roll across the screen, and sat down to watch. Or at least, that was what he appeared to be doing.

Making sure to place a distant, half-there expression on his face (an expression his former roommate Xander Harris had once once pointed out to him, and later referred to as his "Spike in a TV-induced coma" look -- usually adding some stupid joke about how Spike was unliving proof that TV killed your brain cells), he pretended to let the on-screen actions absorb him, while tuning both them and everything else out in favor of a single line of thought:

_George. It's me. Answer me.  
George. It's me. Answer me.  
George. It's me. Answer me. _

* * *

It's been said, many times over and by many different people, that there is nothing humans excel at better than making themselves stupider than they really are. That they'll happily ignore blatant truths even when these truths are stating them right in the face, convincing themselves that what they see and hear isn't really what they see and hear, because that would mean that everything they thought they knew was wrong.

While this is an extremely simplified half-truth at best -- the human mind is a lot more complex than most think and works on several different levels -- it does go a long way to explain why, even in places where supernatural beings and events are plentiful, the main population will still stubbornly insist that there's no such thing as monsters or magic, and that everything has a natural explanation.

_Vampires attack your high school?_ Obviously they weren't vampires at all, just gang members on PCP.  
_A demon shows up at the supermarket to go on a killing spree?_ Just a homicidal terrorist with a bad skin condition.  
_Giant, colorful fish flying over the city?_ Must be a balloon of some kind.

So Betta George didn't feel any particular need to stay hidden as he flew over the roofs and buildings. Even though the popular myth that people seldom look up and won't notice what's directly above their heads isn't really true, George knew that the people who _did _look up would, nine times out of ten, decide that there couldn't actually be a flying fish there and that he had to be some kind of special effect or marketing stunt.

Betta George, among friends known as just "George," was a splenden beast, a very rare creature that looked uncannily like a huge, flying betta splenden. For the most part, splenden beasts were peaceable creatures who kept to themselves and didn't bother anyone, which would have made them easy prey to demons and creatures of darkness if it hadn't been for their uncanny telepathic and psychic powers. Splenden beasts, it was said, could read any mind like an open book -- and that included otherwise unreadable minds like those of vampires.

There was some debate, among the few people who actually cared enough about the subject to debate, just how great these splenden beasts' powers were. Even the splenden beasts themselves weren't completely sure, and George had fairly recently (thanks to a persistent vampire who hadn't wanted to take no for an answer) had to push himself to his very limit and beyond and been surprised at just how much power was hidden in that fishy head of his.

He had also discovered that he was pretty adept at locating and picking up stray thoughts from people he knew.

Which was why he wasn't too surprised when, as he swooped over a particularly high rooftop, in a flash, he knew that somewhere, someone he knew was thinking his name. And not only thinking the name, thinking it over and over with a sharp intensity that for a moment caused the thoughts to raise above the dull chatter of other people's stray thoughts, like a shouting voice in a sea of whispers.

Either somebody out there were having some pretty intense fantasies about him, or they were trying to get his attention. He really hoped it was the latter.

George stopped, hovering over the building as he concentrated, seeking out the one mind among the others that was thinking about, or to, him. A human would have been hopelessly lost in a cacophony of thoughts, hopes and inane inner dialogues, but the mind was a splenden beast's true element, and communication between minds mere child's play.

Even so, it took nearly five minutes of intense searching before George found the right mind. It was faint now, but stubbornly repeating the same words over and over again:

_George. It's me. Answer me.  
George. It's me. Answer me.  
George. It's me. Answer me_.

::Spike?:: said George, sending his own thoughts back in reply.

_George. It's me. Answer -- wait, is that you?! You finally heard me?_

::Sorry, I didn't know you were trying to contact me,:: George replied. ::What's up?::

_Got a bit of a situation here, mate,_ came Spike's thoughts. While most people sound very different in their thoughts than they do when talking out loud, Spike's flippant (and affected) London accent was just as pronounced in his mind as in his actual voice. _Might need a bit of help._

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, but I've been busy with a lot of other creative (non-fanfiction-related) work. Rest assured, though, that I haven't given up on fanfiction or on Spike, and that I am continuing this story, however slowly it may go.

In my notes for the previous chapter, I hinted that Betta George would make an appearance in this story, and here he is. People who haven't read the comics might find him misplaced in a place like the Buffyverse, but George is actually a canon character, appearing as he does in the canonical Angel: After the Fall. I like George, and it makes sense that Spike would try to reach out to him, so I decided to give him a role in the story.

You might have noticed that I've removed Faith from the "featured characters" section. The reason for this is that the story has gone through an unexpected change, and all of a sudden I wasn't so certain where, or even if, Faith fit into this anymore. I tried to write some scenes with her for this story, but they always felt forced and unnatural, as if I was trying to shoehorn her into a scene she didn't belong in. The result? A badly-written Faith. And I think our rogue Slayer deserves better than that -- I'd rather save her for an occasion where she can actually shine than force her into a story where she'll only end up looking bad.

There'll be more Buffy-centric characters in the next chapter, though, so stay tuned!


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